


It's good to be home

by Cerise_anouk



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Wee bit of angst, humor?, lemon ahoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:55:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8055343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerise_anouk/pseuds/Cerise_anouk
Summary: “Better watch out, dude. I gotta man and he’s a badass. Like, could totally kill you and you wouldn’t even know. Might walk through that door any second. He was supposed to be home yesterday.”“Yeah?” he kneels down behind her, knees bracketing her calves, “He a big guy?” Bucky crooks his finger and begins a slow rub up and down her slit.“Yep,” she pops the ‘p’ as she arches her hips back, “Like a frickin’ wildebeest, dude. So you better hurry up and bang me before he gets here.”Written for the Lemon Rebellion





	It's good to be home

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. (tosses hands up) what the fuck, i'm posting it anyways.

The sharp, tangy-sweet scent of citrus assaults his nose as soon as he cracks the front door open, triggering his brain’s insta-drool response. Spit pools warm under his tongue and he convulsively swallows it down as he steps into the small entrance of the apartment he now shares with his one and only. Silently toeing off his heavy combat boots he nudges them against the wall, dwarfing the pair of Uggs and floral print rain boots he sandwiches them between. He smiles softly. Eight months and the sight of her brightly colored eclectic things jumbled in with his dark and utilitarian stuff still sent a flutter of the warm happys ghosting through his body.

Hanging his black tac vest on the hook next to her pumpkin spice colored pea coat he makes his way down the green hall (Kilkenny green, the bucket had said) on silent, wool covered feet, following the sounds of mellow, blue-grassy music to the living room, passing the White Raisin toned kitchen on his way. Stopping at the boundary where hall met the living area he slips his gloved hands in the pockets of his black tac pants and leans against the wall, ankles crossed, and just takes in a view that’s just as mouthwatering as the smell.

Down on all fours, hair in a loose mahogany messy bun, the sleeves of a tight gray Henley pushed up to her elbows is his Darcy, humming along to the mellow tune as she swirls a rag across the wood floor; the bucket and Costco sized bottle of Lemon Pledge next to her the obvious source of the tangy citrus smell. She’s facing away from him, and the tiny pair of brightly colored Lululemon yoga shorts she has on hug her plump, heart shaped ass in the best of ways, putting it on display for his appreciative eyes. A pair of thick, mismatched socks bunched around her ankles finish off the pretty picture.

God, but he loves her. Every little curvy bit of her, from the tip of her straight nose to the ends of her bitty toes. At first, he’d tried to fight it, tried to stay away, to keep his distance. She’d been too good for the fractured, mess of a man that he had been back then- that he still _was_ , on occasion. He’d taken one look at her in the sterile white lab, standing out like a lush, colorful flower, taken one _look_ at her joyful painted smile while she’d been ribbing Stark about something or other and _known_ that he’d never, _never_ be good enough for a sweet dame like her. Girls like that were for men like Steve, not death-armed assassins dripping in seventy years of blood and destruction like him.

His therapist (*cough!* Sam *cough!*) had rolled his eyes and told him he needed to stop watching _If_ _Loving You is Wrong_ with Steve when he’d said that.

So he’d tried to push his budding feelings away. Tried to ignore the way the light played on her cognac and whiskey tresses. How soft her milky skin looked. The round curves of her hips, the delicate lines of her neck. How she was just the right height for her ear to rest against his beating heart if he were t’ wrap his arms around her hourglass waist. Her throaty laugh sent shivers of want down his spine. The twinkle her blues eyes got just before she shot back a smart-mouthed quip at whoever was sorry enough to end up in her line of fire. Oh, the _things_ her snarky potshots made him want to do to her mouth. The gentle smile she had for Jane, or Thor, or Natalia on any given day, like a ma proud of her babies. All things that filled him with a desperate need to have her give them to him.

So he got a little closer to the flame.

She had no respect for personal boundaries; little absentminded touches to his chest and arms had slowly driven him into a lust filled madness. The fact that she did it to everyone had made him all the more insane. He damn near lost his cool whenever he walked into the common area and saw her snuggled up with any one of his teammates. Almost broke Sam in training one day after he’d walked in and found the man asleep with his head cushioned on her lap, delicate nimble fingers brushing through his hair.

She was thoughtful; considerate to the rest of his team, and kind in the sneakiest of ways. She was like one of those goddamned Sour Patch Kidz candies Vision liked so much; tangy and off putting on the outside, sweet, gooey and so fucking tempting on the inside. He actually thinks he might kill for the last slice of her double crumble coffee cake, and he and Steve had arm wrestled over the last of her false apple pie after returning one night from a mission.

He’d won, flesh and bone arm and all.

But the worst part? The absolute fucking _worst_ part about it all was that she had _no_ _fucking_ _clue_ what she did to him. To any of the men (and not a few women) he caught checking her out in the halls on the regular. He’d been dizzy over her for _months_ before Steve’d finally had had enough and called him out on it.

“Jesus Buck, just ask her out already would ya? Sick’a seeing you growl and stomp around every time she smiles at some poor lab tech.”

Before he could deny it Nat had cut in, “Don’t remember you being a coward, Barnes.”

And that had sealed his fate.

He’d slunk into the lab she worked in with Doctors Foster, Selvig and Banner as well as Stark and, ignoring the curious looky-Lou’s, had nutted up and popped the question. She’d been surprised, but had stammered (uncharacteristically) out a yes.

He’d taken her ice skating in the town closest to the compound. She didn’t have a graceful bone in her sinful body, and he’d spent their time on the ice with her mitten covered hand clinging onto his bionic forearm. Not technically his goal, but he’d never been a man who looked a gift horse in the mouth before so he took it and ran, or skated, rather. By the time they’d stepped off the ice for cocoa his cheeks had been sore from the constant smiling he’d been doing.

She’d kissed him on the cheek at her door.

Month one had been filled with dates to the movies, restaurants, and dancing.

Month two with lazy days in bed, quiet home cooking and shared showers.

Month three had brought a sparkly Thor toothbrush to his bathroom, a red knitted throw to his couch, and her second favorite crockpot taking up counter space in his kitchen every Sunday.

Month brought a surprise ‘I love you’ one sun filled morning, followed by him panicing, because he loved her too and that was completely, utterly, _fucking_ _terrifying_ , followed by a fight, a slammed door, then a miserable three week long mission with a black out no contact order attached to it.

Month five had him coming home. Had him begging for forgiveness, and saying ‘I love you’ back, and hot, steamy make up sex up against her hall wall that had transitioned to ‘I missed you sex’ laid out over the arm of her IKEA couch, that had become ‘God I love you, you jerk-face sex’ in the shower and then he’d curled around her like a living blanket in her too small bed and whispered the words into the back of her neck between kisses until they’d fallen asleep. She’d moved in the next day.

So here he were, eight months and some missions and a couple’a heated arguments and endless laughing and loving and happiness later.

Staring at her ass. The ass that jiggled as she bobbed to the beat of whatever song she was listening to.

Well, with an invitation like that….

Stripping the gloves from his hands he tosses them on the squishy recliner that, for a while, had been his only piece of furniture when he’d first moved in. Now draped over its back is the heirloom crochet blanket Gammy Lewis had made some time when he’d been picking off targets in The War.

Heavy feet made light from decades of training creep over gleaming wood to the prone figure still bobbing away as she mopped the floor. Bending low he stretches out his flesh arm and curves his broad hand over the ample swell of her pert ass; the tip of his middle finger following the seam of her spandex shorts down to the warm treasure hidden at the apex of her thighs, his callouses catching at the odd fiber as he goes.

“Better watch out, dude. I gotta man and he’s a badass. Like, could totally kill you and you wouldn’t even know. Might walk through that door any second. He was _supposed_ to be home yesterday.”

 “Yeah?” he kneels down behind her, knees bracketing her calves, “He a big guy?” Bucky crooks his finger and begins a slow rub up and down her slit.

“Yep,” she pops the ‘p’ as she arches her hips back, “Like a frickin’ wildebeest, dude. So you better hurry up and bang me before he gets here.”

Barking out a laugh he flips her over onto her back, quick as a hiccup, and pins her wrists to the floor, “Oh, yeah?” he cocks a dark brow and smirks down at her.

Petal pink lips, bare of paint, curl up in a shit-eater’s grin and blue eyes sparkle as Darcy stares up at him, “Mm-hm. He’s been out kicking major bad guy ass, should be walking in about now,” she bites her full bottom lip, the sight sends blood rushing straight to his cock, and runs her eyes down and back up his body, “He’s not the sharing type.”

“Well ain’t that a cryin’ shame. Sweetheart like you looks like more th’n one fella could handle,” Bucky runs his eyes over her body just like she did his, his steely blues freezing when they catch sight of her hard nipples through the waffle weave of her shirt. Sweet Jesus, she wasn’t wearing a bra. His dick gives an involuntary, excited jerk in his cargo pants.

“I don’t know about that,” she brings a knee up and slides one milky, smooth thigh against the bulge pushing against his fly, he locks his eyes with her heated ones, “You look like the kind guy that could handle me. Maybe.”

“Oh, yeah?” he growls, then swallows her answer as he presses his mouth against hers, fire licking down his spine. Curling his tongue with hers he tastes her for the first time in _weeks_. Releasing her wrists he tunnels his fingers into her thick, silky hair, angling his head for better access as they lap at each other. Plump lips wrap around his tongue and she _sucks_ , pantomiming what he’d been fantasizing about her doing to his dick for days, pulling a groan of want from deep within him and making his cock throb painfully behind his zipper. He’s so fucking hard. He’s done nothing but stare through a scope and dream about her for nineteen days.

Pulling free with a wet ‘pop’ he peppers her face with kisses, pressing his lips to a sharp cheek bone, her pointy chin, one fluttering eyelid, “Missed you-“ *kiss* “-missed you so fucking _much_ , Darce,” he nips at her full bottom lip then sucks on it and swirls the tip of his tongue over it, soothing any sting away.

Small hands tug impatiently at his waistband as he runs his nose along her jaw, following the line of it to her ear, “Were you a good girl while I was gone?” he asks, running his tongue down the curve of her ear, latching on and sucking when he reaches the lobe. Grinding his painfully hard dick against her thigh, desperate for any kind of friction, he pulls his left hand free of her thick locks and squeezes a plush round hip then runs it up along the contours of her body past the dip of her waist, over her ribs until he cups one round, full breast and squeezes.

Her breath hitches in her throat and she gets the button free, “Nope,” she says breathily. He kisses and licks his way down the column of her neck, across her collarbone and goes lower, “I was totally the opposite of good,” she hooks her toes in the band of his pants and pushes them past his hips, over his ass and down his strong thighs. Snaking her free hand down she grasps him in her hot little palm, wraps her fingers around his hard thickness and squeezes, then works it up to the weeping head and back down, “Like, super bad. Like I make Doom look like Gru,” she claims, slowly jerking him off.

Letting out a shaky laugh that was more choking on air than anything, he yanks the V-neck of her Henley down, revealing creamy, mountains of holiness. Rolling a hard, dusky nipple between his smooth vibranium fingers for just a moment, he lowers his shaggy head and engulfs the aching peak in the wet heat of his mouth, flicking it with his tongue before sucking hard, riding her hand for a few agonizing strokes as he suckles until he can’t take it anymore.

Jerking back he crouches on his heels between her thighs, impatiently yanks his long sleeved shirt over his head with one hand, tosses it aside, then shimmies her shorts down her smooth legs and throws them aside too, letting out a needy moan when he catches sight of her bare pussy.

“See something you like, Soldier?” Darcy teases, the flush spreading up her chest and lighting up her cheeks giving away just how turned on she is. She’d missed him like crazy… just him _touching_ her had her half way to orgasm.

Smoothing reverent hands down her soft inner thighs he parts her labia and fights the urge to drool when her pink center, practically dripping with arousal, is opened up to him. Swallowing convulsively he locks lust filled eyes with hers, “Way more’n like. So fuckin’ beautiful,” he rumbles, running the tip of his broad finger through her juices then delving deep into hot core, watching her eyes flutter shut and pouty mouth go slack as he curls his finger and strokes that one spot he knows best makes her crazy over and over, “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Sweetheart.”

“Blah, blah, blah- fuck me,” She moans as he feels her inner muscles flutter around his digit and he can’t take no more.

Pulling his sopping hand back he takes hold of her hips, drags her up his thighs and plunges his weeping cock into her clenching, molten center. They let out identical moans of pleasure and he just holds her there for a moment, back arched off the glossy floor, shirt rucked up and tits hanging out, nipples peaked, as he basks in her heat, lets it melt the coldness that always creeps back in when he was away from her on missions for just a second.

 _Home_ , he thinks, withdrawing and snapping his hips forward again tugging her over his dick at the same time, _I’m home_.

Bracing her feet Darcy tries to give as good as she’s getting but the way he’s holding her has her at a disadvantage, leaving Bucky in the driver’s seat. Not that she’s complaining, as the arched position has him gliding over her g-spot and hitting her just below her belly button with every deep, hard thrust. Panting, she presses the heel of her palm into her lower belly, gasping in pleasure as she feels him bump her hand and hit those over stimulated nerves just that much more. Her walls begin to flutter and her nipples tighten and heated tension begins to coil deep within her.

Panting, Bucky watches her breasts bounce with each deep thrust, his aching balls beginning to tingle and he picks up his pace. Watches her brow crease in pleasure as she bites her lip and arches her hips just that much more to get him deeper, closer… as her skin takes on the flush of love making. It had taken a hundred years for God to make a woman just right for him; with enough sass, grit and brains to keep him willfully tethered. Seventy years of captivity was a fair trade for the love of this good woman. If he only had a year, or ten, or fifty it didn’t matter. To him, every morning he got to wake up next to her, fight with her, binge watch a show with _her_ , was worth it.   

“ _James_ ,” She gasps out an instant before he feels her pussy clamp down on his cock, milking an answering orgasm out of him in spirts, sending shocks of pleasure up his spine. Panting for air he tosses his head back, muscles in his neck straining as the fire swept through him, ends of his hair brushing against his sweat damped shoulders.

Finally his dick gives a last feeble twitch, and he slumps, feeling empty and drained and relaxed. Giving her hip a little slap he lets her slide back to floor and looks down at her. Hair half out of its tie, shirt forming a band under breasts, arms flung out at odd angles, flushed and panting from the sex she looks like a pretty mess. A pretty _satisfied_ mess.

Somewhere, somehow in the fray she’d lost a sock.

Smirking he says, “Hey.”

Smiling back she pokes her bare toe into his unprotected armpit, tickling him and causing him to jerk. Damn woman knew too much, “Hey.” (She never asked about his missions. Never pried or pushed.)

Smiling at each other for a few heartbeats like a couple’a moon-eyed morons Darcy finally breaks the comfortable silence.

“Sooooo, you wanna eat cold pizza and watch Bones on Netflix?”

“Is that even’a question Doll?”

 

It was good to be home.


End file.
